Jack of Diamonds

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘Thanks, Lenny.’

  ‘Hey, man, no harm done. If it don’t work out, you have yourself a nice vacation while you here, compliments of us; free room, chow, give you a chance to look around, check out the scene. If you not happy, we send you back to freeze your butt off in Toronto. Or you stay in America, get yourself another piano job in some jazz joint. I got you a Musicians Union card and, believe me, that ain’t easy. We don’t control that union, that’s another Mob. Somebody hadda lean on somebody.’

  I was silent for a while. Despite being somewhat piqued, I knew Lenny was right. I’d always wanted to work in America and I was more than happy to have a reason to leave Toronto. After all, Las Vegas was just another form of scuffing, another Moose Jaw with legal gambling, poker on tap and a chance to see if I was good enough to make it as a jazz piano player in America. That was pretty much all I’d ever wished for.

  ‘Lenny, thanks for levelling with me. I’ll audition for Mrs Fuller and if she doesn’t like my playing, no hard feelings. If she does, then I’ll play a week for her GAWP Bar patrons, to see if they take to me. If they don’t, then I’ll move right along. Maybe chance my hand in LA or New York. No, you don’t need to pay my way. I’ve got enough money.’ I grinned. ‘Or maybe I’ll stick around and see if I can sit in on a few poker games and do some scuffing someplace else in town.’

  Lenny smiled. ‘Hey hey, Jack, you was always your own man. I appreciate what you just said. If Bridgett likes you, then you spend the next six months working up a great routine for her new and improved GAWP Bar at the Firebird. Mrs Fuller, she smart, she on the ball, but you right, buddy, she don’t know you. She’s only got my word. She want to be sure you the right person for the Firebird.’

  ‘Lenny, I understand. Only one thing . . .’

  ‘Yeah, what is it, Jack?’

  ‘If it doesn’t work out, may I keep the Musicians Union card?’

  Lenny laughed, clearly relieved that I hadn’t made a fuss. ‘It the least I can do, Jack. I apologise for bringin’ you all this way for an audition; it ain’t dignified, but I know Mrs Fuller, she gonna like you. We gonna build the best new piano bar in America, just for you, man. We already got you your baby grand Steinway. Nobody else played it yet ’cept the Latino guy who tuned it.’

  Lenny slowed down, and pulled off the road and stopped the Cadillac in front of a high fence topped with barbed wire, surrounding a block of flat land that seemed to stretch away into the desert. There were workmen everywhere and a buzz and rumble of machines – what you’d call a busy site. It was by no means as large as the Flamingo site, but Lenny gazed at it proudly and announced, ‘Well, buddy, here it is, the Firebird!’

  Over the noise of the cement mixers and jackhammers, I could hear dogs barking. Lenny pointed to a large fenced-off area some way within the complex, piled high with building materials. ‘See the dogs, Jack?’

  Six German shepherd dogs were pacing restlessly around the perimeter and I could see a security man on duty at the gate.

  ‘You reckon it will be finished by December, Lenny?’ I asked doubtfully.

  ‘Yeah, the builders seem confident. These guys were building army bases during the war and they know their shit from Shinola. Our guys know all about how to run a site. We reckon by the time they get the Flamingo finished, we’ll be open.’

  ‘Well, if you run short of anything, you’ll know where to get it. The Benjamin Siegel Building Supply Company.’

  Lenny grinned. ‘Ya know, Jack, I call him a kike, a yid, a fucking Jew incompetent, whatever, but Mrs Fuller still calls him a true visionary. I hope she’s right.’

  ‘You don’t think, you know, with Bugsy Siegel’s mess down the road, that you’re taking a chance building out here on the highway?’

  ‘Good question, buddy. The godfather agree wid you, Jack. He wanna keep it small, he don’t wanna move from Glitter Gulch. The most he wanna do is, say, buy the property next door, add a few more suites, timber construction, cheap, easy.’

  ‘So?’

  Lenny laughed, then switched on the ignition and reversed onto the highway. ‘Mrs Fuller don’t like that idea. She tells Tony Accardo the Jew got vision, The Strip is where it all gonna happen in the future.’

  ‘So, you – I mean, the boss in Chicago – went along with her?’ I said, somewhat surprised.

  Lenny gave a snort. ‘Went along? No way, buddy!’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  Lenny thought for a moment. ‘I cain’t say I rightly know, buddy. Maybe she got somethin’ on the boss, or maybe the Family, or maybe she sweet-talked him.’

  ‘I’m intrigued. What do you think?’

  ‘Intrigued, what that mean?’

  ‘Well, curious.’

  ‘It musta bin somethin’ big because Tony Accardo rang me from Chicago. “Don’t you let nuttin’ happen to Mrs Fuller,” he says. Mrs Fuller! That ain’t like him. Usually he says, “That fuckin’ bitch” or just “the bitch”, and I suppose to know who he mean.’ Lenny glanced quickly at me. ‘So, I says to him, “Hey, Godfather, I thought you ain’t happy wid the idea the Firebird in the first place and out on The Strip the second.” Then he say, “Lenny, she got the goods on us. Time being we gotta go along wid her . . . but unnerstan’, I ain’t happy.”’

  ‘And that’s all he said?’

  ‘Yeah, Jack, just about. He say one more time I gotta keep her happy, an’ the rest none my business. Capisce? That mean “unnerstan’” in I-talian.’

  We’d arrived in downtown Las Vegas and Lenny turned the Cadillac into Fremont Street East. Moments later we slowed and turned into a gravelled driveway. I confess my first impressions were disappointing. The El Marinero casino was built in what is generally referred to as ranch-style: white stucco plaster over a timber frame with terracotta roof trim, its architectural antecedents almost certainly Spanish Mission. It was anything but imposing; small, even, by Canadian hotel standards, and from the outside it didn’t appear to have any of the pizzazz I’d anticipated.

  My heart sank, and I feared that, despite the talk about future luxury casinos on The Strip, Las Vegas might be the American version of Moose Jaw. I resolved on the spot that if I was rejected by Mrs Fuller or her GAWP ladies, I’d move out of Las Vegas and try my luck in LA or New York. Maybe at night, with the neon blazing in Glitter Gulch, it might improve, but by day this area looked like a dump. One Moose Jaw is more than enough for any musical career.

  Lenny eased the big car to a halt and the doorman rushed to open the Cadillac’s door. Lenny stayed him with his hand and turned to me. ‘Jack, buddy, I’m glad you had the balls to front up to me about the Mob here in Las Vegas. Most people, they hear mention of the Mafia or the Family and they act real careful.’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘We’re buddies, real buddies, brothers in arms. That’s something special and don’t never forget it. Las Vegas is something else and it’s gonna work out just fine if we stick together. You have a problem, you come direct to me, you hear? Buddy, I ain’t gonna let you down.’

  ‘That is if Mrs Fuller and her ladies like me,’ I said with a laugh.

  Lenny didn’t reply but said instead, ‘Lemme take you to meet Mrs Fuller.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Jesus, I’m late for a meeting wid Manny “Asshole” de Costa – my lawyer – and the Nevada Gaming Commission.’

  I grinned. ‘How did he get his middle name?’

  Lenny laughed. ‘He’s a mean bastard, does the dirty work for the godfather. Regular asshole, that’s all.’

  He beckoned to the now-hovering flunkeys and they came over to unload the car. For the few steps across the hotel driveway the heat felt like a slap in the face; then, as we entered the hotel, the cold blast of air-conditioning almost knocked me over. Lenny stopped, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. ‘Jack, do you remember Sammy Schischka, my cousin?’

  ‘Sure, nice guy, played cards with him at the American air-force base at Gatwick airfield in England. You could say he introduced us. Remember he g
ave me your name when I left for London?’ I had developed the poker player’s instinct of never forgetting the technique and habits of someone with whom I had played three or four times, no matter how long it had been since the last game. Sammy Schischka was ticketed in my mind as a born loser, at least at poker.

  ‘That’s right, of course. Well, he’s here, Jack. But he’s changed a lot. The air force gave him a really hard time.’

  ‘What? Wounded?’ I asked as we crossed the lobby.

  Before he could answer, a tall, attractive brunette appeared. Not really beautiful or even pretty, she was still a knockout, with a strong, intelligent face, wide, generous mouth and astonishing eyes. She also had long legs and a figure that I knew was going to feature in my dreams for a very long time. This was obviously Mrs Fuller. I judged her to be in her late twenties, already too old for me, and married into the bargain, yet my heart was pounding.

  ‘Tell ya about Sammy later,’ Lenny muttered as an aside, then smiled. ‘Lemme introduce you to Bridgett, Jack.’

  To my surprise, Bridgett Fuller extended her hand without smiling, her striking green eyes seeming to take me in at a single glance. Perhaps the stern expression indicated she didn’t like what she saw. I’d last changed my clothes in New York and I guess I was pretty scruffy, if not somewhat on the nose. Or, as I had learned to say while in England, I guess I ponged a bit. ‘Welcome to the El Marinero, Mr Spayd.’

  I took her hand and smiled. ‘Thank you, ma’am. Please, call me Jack.’

  I’ve always been sceptical about love at first sight, perhaps because of my parents’ awful marriage, and Lenny had told me enough about Mrs Fuller to make me cautious. Even so, I’d felt a charge go through me at her touch. It wasn’t just lust, or sex, it was a reaction to the whole of her. Yet, I knew almost nothing about her. Patently, my reaction was ridiculous, and I hoped she hadn’t noticed it. I forced my voice to sound cordial and friendly, but nothing more.

  Bridgett Fuller pressed her lips together, then said, ‘Thank you, that is most kind but, if you don’t mind, I would prefer to call you Mr Spayd.’

  ‘Oh! Yes, of course,’ I replied, my face burning. Shit! Over-eager. Bad start.

  ‘It makes things so much easier,’ she said.

  Lenny stood by, looking somewhat foolish. ‘Bridgett even calls me Mr Giancana in company,’ he said a little sheepishly. I now understood why he often referred to her as Mrs Fuller.

  ‘You’ll want to see your room, take a shower and change, Mr Spayd. I presumed you have no clothes for the desert climate, so I’ve left out a pair of slacks and a shirt belonging to Mr Giancana.’ She gave me a second swift assessment. ‘The trousers will be a bit big around the waist and perhaps an inch or so short in the leg, and the shirt will be too big, but I can arrange for someone to take you shopping or call a tailor, should you need your own clothes.’ This was all said in a calm, even tone, but I’d picked up the hint that I might be moving on before I needed a new set of clothes.

  ‘Thank you, that’s very considerate, ma’am,’ I said. I was damned if I was going to be forced into calling her Mrs Fuller, just because she insisted on calling me Mr Spayd. Her access to Lenny’s wardrobe suggested that their relationship might be more than simply a professional one.

  However, almost as if she’d read my mind, she turned to Lenny and said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Giancana, but I made the selection from the ironing maid’s basket in the laundry.’

  ‘No, sure; thanks, Bridgett, good idea,’ Lenny said hastily.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘The tax people are waiting for you in the boardroom, Mr Giancana. You’re twenty minutes late. As you know, they don’t care to be kept waiting.’ She had an east-coast accent, one my mom would have described as a bit hoity-toity. If she’d been a stranger and we’d met under different circumstances, I could hear Lenny describing her as ‘a beautiful ball-breaker’.

  ‘Jack, gotta go! I’ll see you later,’ Lenny announced and touched me lightly on the shoulder as if to reassure me. He glanced at Mrs Fuller. ‘Has that shyster of a lawyer of ours arrived from Chicago?’

  ‘Yes, Mr de Costa is waiting in your office.’

  ‘His usual happy self, I take it?’

  This last remark almost brought a smile, and certainly the beginnings of one, to Mrs Fuller’s pretty lips. ‘Cheery as frostbite,’ she replied.

  Lenny grinned at her riposte. ‘Jack, Bridgett’s right, take your time, have a shower and then perhaps a nap. These meetings usually last a coupla hours, pain in the butt. Ask for Gina at the desk when you come down. She’ll know where I am and she’ll bring you over. I’ve got you a nice surprise wid the piano,’ he said as he left.

  I confess I was in two minds about being welcomed again downstairs by the redoubtable Mrs Fuller. Part of me couldn’t wait to see her again, but the other part quailed at her cool self-possession. Being from Cabbagetown, I was naturally class-conscious and found Mrs Fuller’s manner, combined with her stunning good looks, more than a little intimidating. It didn’t augur well for my audition. If it didn’t work out, I’d either take a train to San Diego or find a boarding house. One thing was sure, I wasn’t going to take Lenny up on his offer of a free vacation, not with those intelligent green eyes judging me a failure.

  With two hours or so to spare, I showered thoroughly, then unpacked and took a somewhat fitful nap before changing into Lenny’s gear. I splashed my face in the basin and ran a comb through my hair, which I’d allowed to grow out into a dark mop. Now that the war was over, most musicians no longer sported their army crew cuts.

  I walked out of the lift into the lobby, approached the reception desk and asked for Gina. One of three attractive young women, a brunette, looked up and smiled. Before I could introduce myself, she announced, ‘You must be Mr Spayd.’ With a gorgeous smile, she continued, ‘Welcome to the El Marinero. Mr Giancana is in the Longhorn Room with Mr de Costa. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll take you to him.’

  I returned her smile and in what I hoped was a disarming manner, said, ‘Please, would you consider calling me Jack?’

  Gina laughed prettily. ‘But, of course. Hi, Jack. We’re all looking forward to hearing you play.’ She emerged from behind the reception desk and I noted the tight-fitting grey pencil skirt, high-heeled black pumps and seamed stockings. Following her neat derriere was going to be a pleasure.

  It seemed the Longhorn Room was a casual luncheon room and cocktail bar, with several lounge settings as well as dining tables. Lenny was seated with a tall, thin, dark-haired man with a pockmarked face. Obviously the lawyer from Chicago, Manny ‘Asshole’ de Costa was wearing a slick brown double-breasted suit. They were seated in the far corner of the large room, having a cocktail. Gina crossed the room with me in tow and announced, ‘Mr Giancana, Mr Spayd is here.’

  ‘Hiya, Jack,’ Lenny said, then, raising his hand, he indicated the tall Italian-looking guy. ‘This is Manny de Costa, our lawyer from Chicago.’

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ I said, extending my hand. Manny de Costa remained seated and gave my hand a limp squeeze. As the saying goes, it was like shaking hands with a squid. ‘How ya doin’?’ he mumbled without bothering even to glance at me.

  ‘Jack, siddown, siddown. You look rested – that’s good, ’ Lenny said in an ebullient manner, then, turning to de Costa, was all business again. In a brusque voice, he said, ‘I guess that’s about it, Manny. Hotel driver be waiting to take you to the airport. See you next month, same time, same place. Don’t forget to bring them papers, licences, the new slot machines for the Firebird.’

  De Costa mumbled something, rose from his chair and glanced briefly, and without interest, at me. ‘See ya ’round. If ya get the fuckin’ job, we’ll fix ya a tight contract. I don’t like no loose ends.’ He departed without shaking hands and before I could reply.

  ‘Nice guy to have at a funeral,’ I remarked, taking the chair Manny ‘Asshole’ de Costa had vacated.

  ‘Not even at a fun
eral, buddy,’ Lenny murmured, glancing up at Gina, who was hovering tactfully. ‘Thanks, Gina. Get Jack a drink before you leave,’ he instructed, then, turning to me, said, ‘what’s your poison, Jack?’

  ‘Just a sarsaparilla, thanks, Gina.’

  ‘Right away, Mr Spayd.’ We both watched as her trim backside undulated across the room.

  ‘Nice ass, but she’s out of bounds, Jack.’

  I turned to him and grinned. ‘Gimme a break, Lenny. I just got here and may not be staying long enough to disobey the rules.’

  Lenny laughed. ‘Jesus, Jack, you ain’t changed from London. Still a bunny banger, huh?’

  I laughed. ‘Look who’s talking!’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the downside of Mrs Fuller’s rules, but this one is a damn good one. Don’t get your meat where you get your bread. Stops a lotta drama and keeps things runnin’ smooth.’

  ‘Bridgett sounds like she could use a little meat herself.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I mean, she herself possibly needs, you know, a guy in her life . . . what’s the matter with that husband of hers?’

  Lenny looked over my shoulder and grinned like an ape. ‘Say, why don’t you suggest that to her yourself, Jack?’

  I turned to see Mrs Fuller standing directly behind me. Plainly, she had heard my remark, but her face remained impassive. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Spayd,’ she said, sotto voce, ‘I hope you are feeling refreshed?’

  I could feel my face burning but managed to mumble, ‘Ah, yes, thank you, ma’am!’

  Jesus, there goes my audition! Gina returned with my drink and, before I could thank her, Mrs Fuller smiled at her and said, ‘Thank you for taking care of Mr Spayd, Gina.’ Her tone was pleasant enough and didn’t change when she turned to me and said, ‘We’d like you kindly to audition in half an hour, Mr Spayd. I’ll come over to take you to the piano bar. I’m greatly looking forward to hearing you play. Enjoy your drink.’